


The Fall

by smolsummerchild



Category: Supernatural
Genre: I don't know, M/M, destiel fic, how do you tag stuff, just enjoy it :)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 08:44:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7526110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smolsummerchild/pseuds/smolsummerchild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's ready to end his life when he runs into a scruffy-haired cutie at the grocery store.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> This the second Destiel fic I've written, so don't judge too harshly :)  
> Enjoy!

Dean was done.

Not in the stereotypical, woe-is-me way, but  _ actually _ done. You see, despite his verbally (and occasionally physically) abusive father, and his beloved baby brother that somehow escaped to college without him, he’d had a pretty normal summer. That is, until his father figure and best friend, Bobby, died of a massive stroke. After this he sank into a deep depression. Well, this and the nightmares. He lay awake, terrified but certain of the horrors to come in the next several hour. On a particularly bright, cheerful,  _ irritating  _ day, Dean made a decision.

After waking up with a pounding headache, he stumbled, eyes half-open, to the fridge, where he grabbed a Miller Lite, downing it in two gulps.

_ Nothing like a cold beer in the early morning,  _ he thought angrily, cursing God, karma, and whatever else cursed him with the life he led. 

Tossing the bottle into the overflowing trash can, he grabbed another for the road, and threw on a dark green, moth-eaten shirt. He realized he probably shouldn’t have trusted the cleanliness of the floor, but it didn’t matter. It wasn’t like he’d see anyone he knew where he was going. When he finally got into his car, he took a deep breath and appreciated it for a moment. The one thing that hadn’t let him down. The 1967 Chevy Impala smelled of old memories from an early, dream like childhood that seemed at times like it hadn't even happened.

Dean tried to hold on to these as much as possible, but lately the smell of his father’s spilled whiskey had put a damper on the sweet thoughts. 

He started the car and pulled out of the driveway, praying today wouldn’t be the day the car stopped working. As he drove away from the house, he noticed that the grass was so long it has gone to seed.

It took about 15 minutes for him to reach the local supermarket. It was a family’s store, run by a mother and her son. Dean was pretty sure their name was Tran, but he couldn’t be sure. He madesure he looked as innocent as possible when he entered the store; he couldn't have anyone suspecting anything,  _ that would ruin the fun! _ he thought bitterly. 

It took him no time at all to find the aisle labeled CLEANING SUPPLIES. He walked briskly through, wanting to leave as soon as possible. While searching for the most deadly-looking bottle, his focus was broken. He had been so absorbed in his own melancholy thoughts that he’d run straight into something... _ quite solid.  _ He jumped in surprise, and then realized he had visibly cowered as a reflex. Quickly straightening up he curiously stared at the newcomer.

_ Goddammit, I knew I shouldn’t have worn this shirt,  _ he thought, noticing how attractive the person was.

“Oh! Hello,” The stranger said, looking up at Dean and smiling slightly.

“Um...hi,” Dean said. “What are you doing here?” he said, making a feeble attempt at conversation.

“I’m just buying some laundry detergent,” the boy said. “You?” he tilted his head a bit. Was he just  _ trying  _ to look as adorable as possible?  _ I mean, scruffy hair, dazzling blue eyes--he could have any girl--or guy, for that matter--on their knees in seconds. Actually that doesn’t seem like such a bad idea,  _ Dean thought, before remembering this lovely person has asked him a question and was probably waiting for his response.

“Um...same as you, I-I guess,” he mumbled, thinking it wouldn’t have been socially appropriate to say,  _ well, you angelically attractive stranger, I’m actually planning on committing suicide tonight. I’ve heard it only takes about fifteen minutes, and I really deserves the pain that comes with it. Have a nice day! _

After this embarrassing encounter, Dean coughed and smiled at the boy before turning tail and fleeing as fast as possible.

***

As Dean pulled away from the parking lot, face still burning, he realized he'd forgotten to buy what he came for.   
***   
When he got home, the shock of seeing such an attractive, adorable human had worn off. He pulled out the old, rusted keys in his pocket and unlocked the door after several unlucky tries.   
As usual, the house smelled like beer, piss, and crushed dreams. The house used to send off "good vibes", as Sammy would call them, but now it no longer held the memories of childhood. To Dean, it was a physical representation of how much in his life had gone wrong. He tried to shut the door as quietly as possible, but John, however drunk he was, always seemed to know Dean's whereabouts.       
"All right, where've ya been this time? He slurred. Dean counted at least four bottles on the ground, plus a lot of broken glass wedged in the carpet. There was a half-empty one in his hand. "I was just driving around a bit." Dean backed up defensively. There was no way he'd tell his father what he was planning on doing.    
John muttered some incoherent string of words and shooed Dean away. He hadn't been expecting much else, this was how it usually happened. Later, Dean would be asked (told, rather) to make dinner, and if it wasn't to Johns satisfaction, he'd be shoved around for a bit. Honestly, Dean was so used to the comments about how he was "worthless", or that "no one cares about him", that he'd rather hear them that be hurt physically. As John said, "if you can't see it, it's not there", and Dean just pretended it was true.   
For a while.   
But soon, he wanted to get rid of the constant ache in his chest. He needed to stop feeling the racing heartbeat whenever he heard a male voice that sounded like John's.    
And this was why, several months ago, Dean stole the smallest, sharpest knife in the drawer, even though he got a bloody nose from John for losing "the most important knife in the drawer". Late the same night, the constant fluttering of his chest was too much for Dean. He took the knife and dragged it across his left arm. It stung, and he gasped. What the hell was he doing?   
But the crimson hue of the blood running down his palm entranced him. So he did the same the next night. And the next.   
And soon the habit was, well...a habit.   
Once, Dean wasn't careful enough, and John got a glance at his arm. He made Dean pull up his sleeve, only glanced at the great number of cuts and scars there, and hit him in the jaw. Luckily, he was more than a little drunk and didn't remember the next morning.   
But today, today Dean was going to change. Not only that, he wasn't going to exist.   
***

So he hadn't gotten the bleach. The next best idea was the bridge. Dean sat in his room and watched the time tick by. 4:30. 6:45. 10:03. By the time midnight rolled by, Dean was tired of staring at his plaid-covered bed.    
It only took ten minutes to reach the bridge, and he was there by 12:15. It took a while to sneak past John, and even longer to open the old garage door without it squeaking too much.   
He parked the car on one side of it and sat on the cement wall, blocking people from jumping. A lot of good it did. So many people had jumped off the bridge that Dean suddenly found it oddly ironic that, even in death, he'd just be another crazed mind that couldn't take the hardships of life anymore.   
As he sat on the wall separating his life from death, Dean knew there was really no reason to keep living. He couldn't get a job; at least, a good paying one that he liked, because he'd never gone to college. There was no one he liked enough to hold on for. He had no friends, no girlfriends that hadn't been one-night stands. Anyway, they got the façade, the mask of arrogance and sweet nothings. Also, he thought bitterly, girls meant nothing to him. He was gay as hell and didn't care about a single one. Usually he just wanted to get a free meal out of it. If he "forgot" his wallet, she'd pay and he'd reward her with the thing she was after.   
No one knew he liked guys; he'd never thought to tell anyone. No guy had ever like him either.   
Except the angel at the store.   
But he didn't matter, he was just another face that Dean would never see again.   
Or so he thought.   
He didn't hear the footsteps behind him, getting closer with every breath he took. He didn't see the large blue eyes watching his slumped figure curiously.   
But he certainly felt when the angel from the supermarket sat on the cement wall two inches away from him. Dean jumped, startled by the new presence beside him. There was silence for a few seconds before Dean got over his original shock.   
"...You! What are you doing here?" Dean asked accusingly, as if the mystery boy somehow knew he'd be here.    
"I come here sometimes, just to admire the view", he said. "My family lives about a mile away, so it's an easy walk", he sighed and a small smile escaped from his lips. "It's a very simple view, but it makes an amazing drawing. When the water rushes down, especially in a storm, I like to bring my pencils and sketch it.    
Of course, he's one of the cliche artist boys, too, Dean thought.   
"Why do you come here?" The boy asked, turning his head to look at Dean.   
"I'm gonna jump", he replied bitterly, keeping his eyes on the water below him.   
Dean had to look in confusion as the boy laughed.   
"No, really, why? Oh, I'm Castiel, by the way", he smiled at Dean. Dean's heart raced. (It must be the stress, he thought.)   
"Um. Er, s-same as you, I g-guess..." he stammered. Why was this so hard? This Castiel was a normal human. He just happened to be the most beautiful human Dean had seen. "I just needed to get away tonight. My dad's passed out on the couch as usual, and I'm getting tired of cutt--" he broke off as he realized how much he was confiding in Castiel, a boy he'd just met.   
"'As usual'?" Cas asked. "Is your father usually that irresponsible?"   
"Um...yeah, since my mother died when I was really young," Dean muttered absentmindedly. He didn't want to socialize, he just wanted to end it all, and now.    
"I'm sorry. It must have been sudden, otherwise he'd have been able to cope better," Castiel guessed.    
"Well, Cas (I'm gonna call you Cas), it's really not your business, but as you guessed correctly, I might as well tell you.   
"I was about four, and my brother Sammy was two. Someone plugged in Sammy's nightlight wrong, and when a breeze came in, the curtain caught on the cord it started a fire. No one heard Sammy cry for a long time, and when Mom rushed in, she only had time to get Sammy into my arms before the floor gave out. Anyway, that's what I've been told, and that's what happens in my nightmares," Dean finished the story and glared at the stars high in the sky.   
"Wow. That's just...I'm so sorry," Cas murmured again. Dean blinked. Hearing someone besides himself apologize was something foreign to him, something he forgot could happen.    
"Yeah, well, I don't like gettin' all choked up about it." Dean gave Cas a small smile, and in return Cas reached for Dean's hand. He didn't notice until it was too late, and the touch of another person was so...sincere, pure, that before he knew what he was doing, Dean leaned into Cas and wrapped his arms around him. Now it was the other boy's turn to startle, but he recovered quickly. Soon, sighs turned to tears and tears turned to shaking, heaving sobs, and Cas sat there, taking the burden of Dean's sorrow and regret. Meanwhile Dean forgot about everything he'd been conditioned to feel, he forgot how he was supposed to be unaffected by words. He buried his nose in the crook of Cas' neck and inhaled his scent. The tears wouldn't stop flowing, and soon, Dean had to remove his shirt because it was soaked in fallen tears. As he took off his sleeves, Cas drew in a sharp breath.   
(Oh no.)   
It was too late to go back, so, with watery eyes, Dean let Cas lift up his left forearm with the greatest of care, the softest of hands. He watched as Cas' eyes went from the shoulder scars to the cuts on his wrist from only a few days ago.   
And Dean cried more as Cas kissed each One. This...this (stranger), who he'd known for less than a day,  was being kinder to him than people he'd known for his whole life.   
***   
"Listen", Dean said after sitting and talking with his new friend for hours. "I have to get home before Da--John gets up." Cas had just told him that the best way to get rid of sentiment was to stop referring to John as his father. He wasn't much of a father, Cas had said, so he didn't deserve the grace of the title.   
Cas nodded. "I understand. But..." he blushed and ducked his head. "D'you think you'd come back here tomorrow?" His face, even more beautiful with the light of the rising sun on it, darkened three shades with an obvious blush.    
"Cas, I don't know how I'll live if I don't. Of course I'll come back," Dean said with a small smile. He pressed his nose into Cas' neck and inhaled deeply. He smelled like lavender shampoo and endless campfires. He smelled like the home Dean never knew.

***

Dean visited Cas for many weeks like this. As the sun rose and they could see the first hints of dawn, Dean would promise to come back in good health and with a positive attitude. Every night, Dean leaned his head on Cas’ shoulder and tell him all about his day...no matter how uneventful.   
One specific night, as Dean crept into the house, he noticed something was off. The house was silent. John’s snores couldn’t be heard, and all Dean knew was that there was never this much silence when living with an alcoholic.He bent down and untied his sneakers as quietly as possible, cringing inwardly when they squeaked as they rubbed together.

He flicked on the light switch and looked up. Nothing. He craned his neck to peer into the two closest rooms, and saw that they looked the same as they always had. He rubbed his eyes and sighed. He looked up, only to jump out of his skin when he say two dark, angry eyes staring at him.

It was John.

“Well, well, I guess the cat’s out of the bag, so to speak,” John smirked.

Dean stared back angrily. “A normal hello would have been fine!” he snapped. He never used this tone with his father, but he was tired of the negativity after weeks of going without it. He gulped, regretting it as a vein in John’s temple stuck out even more than it had.

“What are you doing out of the house at three in the morning?” He asked, eyes narrowing.

“I was, um, well…” Dean faltered. If he lied, John  _ would  _ find out. But he couldn’t just tell the man,  _ Well,  _ Dad,  _ actually I’ve meeting with the only person gayer than I am, and we’re actually in a secret relationship. I love him more than I could ever love you.  _ Yeah. That wouldn’t go well.

His problem was solved--kind of--when John decided to grab his collar and shove him against the nearest wall.

“Now you listen to me,” he snarled, spittle flying from his mouth. Dean recoiled as it hit his cheek. “You will never,  _ never,  _ leave without my permission. Is that clear?” he shouted. Every word was louder than the last, and each one broke Dean apart a little more.

“Y-yes sir,” Dean mumbled. Well, there went the vision of him bravely standing up to John, and making him regret every tear he’d ever caused to fall.

“Good.” John gave him one last shove, before walking away, muttering, “You were probably away with some other fag anyway.”

 

_ What  _ did he just say?

 

That was the last straw.

 

Before he could comprehend the movements of his legs and realize that killing someone might now be a good idea, Dean was flying at John.

 

***

 

He didn’t remember much, only that he’d caused enough damage to be serious. It wasn’t a one-sided fight, Dean was pretty sure he had a broken nose, as well as a black eye and a  _ very  _ sore shoulder. As of right now, John was passed out on the floor, and he...well, somehow he had managed to get himself to the bridge.

 

He wasn’t disappointed when, several minutes later, the familiar lavender smell washed over him.

“Hi,” Cas panted. “I had to run here today, my mom had a problem with the car. It was really funny, actually, it just stopped in the middle of the r...are you okay?” he visibly gasped, eyes widening, when Dean turned around to greet him.

 

“That bastard! I’ll kill him! I’ll actually kill him! I’ll--”

“Cas, shh, it’s okay,” Dean whispered hoarsely, voice almost gone. “It’s over now, and besides, I’m not going back. I have an aunt in California, I think, I can call her. Or maybe that was a grandma…”

“Dean Winchester, you are not leaving here. I’m taking you home.”

Dean laughed, but stopped when he started coughing. “Okay, sure,” he panted. “You, bring  _ me  _ home? I’m sure your parents would be  _ very  _ impressed.” 

“Dean, I’ve told them all about you. They have a bed ready and everything. That’s actually what I brought this for, to ask you if you’d stay at my house,” he said, cheeks pinkening as he dug in his trenchcoat for the item.

The mysterious thing turned out to be a paper, a  _ drawing,  _ Dean realized as Cas unfolded it.

It was a sketch, obviously done by Cas; from the way he held on to it, one would think it was his only possession.

I, uh, may have made this a few days ago. I couldn’t wait to share it with you, but...it doesn’t matter. It’s not that good, and we need to go get you cleaned up.”

He was very wrong. 

The drawing had two parts, one set in the dark, with two figures barely visible. They were obviously Dean and Cas, sitting on the bridge just as they were now. Dean’s face looked sober and saddened, while Cas looked serious and trusting. In the second part, set in the nighttime as well, Dean noticed everything seemed...happier, for lack of better words. There were stars inthe sky, a full moon, but most importantly, both faces were smiling, noses touching. There wasn’t one mistake in either of the drawings, and as he held the paper, Dean realized what a beautiful, hidden talent his friend (friend?) had. He handed the drawing back as a tear, followed by several more, fell from his grateful eyes.

“Cas, this is...the best gift I’ve ever gotten in my life,” he said, pulling the other boy as close to him as possible. “I love you,” he said, then gasped, realizing his mistake. “It! I meant...I love it,” he said, waiting for the raised voice he was sure would come.

“You...you do?” Cas asked, voice trembling. “I didn’t know I meant that much to you. I, uh, I love you too,” he said, kissing Dean on the nose. Dean could feel the soft smile in his voice as he pulled back.

 

As Dean took a new path, with his only friend, on the way to a better life, he stopped in his tracks to gaze at the boy beside him. Cas stopped too, looking up at Dean with confused eyes. 

 

“Cas, I know I said I love you,” he said quietly.

 

“But…” Cas said, sadness creeping into his gaze.

 

“No homo, though.”

 

The end.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Just kidding! Please proceed to the next chapter :)


	2. The...

Once the two had reached Cas’ house (after being reprimanded for the comment), Dean began to have second thoughts.  
“Cas, I...I’m scared,” Dean said uncertainly.  
“Why?”  
“I...I don’t want to be pitied. I don’t see how there can be more than one person as amazing and understanding as you, and what if your family hates me? What’ll I do then? I really think I should--”  
“Go? No way, you’re coming in to look at Cas’ old baby photos,” a voice said from behind him.  
Dean turned around, startled. He was relieved to see that the warm brown eyes didn’t have the pitying look he was expecting, but a friendly, curious look, much like Cas’.  
“I’m Amelia, Castiel’s mother. You must be--”  
“Dean, yeah,” Dean said, at the same time Amelia said, “Gay for my son”. Dean snorted, and replied, “That’s me!” while being ushered inside quite forcefully by a caring mother much like her son.  
While he was getting cleaned up by four caring hands, Dean told Amelia his story. She had the same reaction as her son, but with a lot more hand gestures and vehement swear words.  
“Well, dear, you can stay here for as long as you need. You are the most delightful boy I have had the pleasure of meeting, and I know it’s not easy telling a stranger this.”  
Cas followed along, smiling, until he gasped, looking affronted. “What? I thought I was the most delightful boy there was!”  
Amelia laughed. “And that’s why you two make such a great team!” She said happily.  
Once Dean was all bandaged up, Amelia and Cas practically forced him onto the largest, cushiest-looking couch he’d ever seen.  
“Well, this is the nicest bed I’ve ever seen,” Dean said, snuggling into the blankets set out for him and promptly falling asleep.

***

Dean woke to the heavenly smell of waffles baking, something he hadn’t remembered families did. The second thing he noticed was that everything was...blue…  
“Cas!” Dean yelped in surprise and then grinned.  
“Good morning to you, too, beautiful,” Cas grinned before leaning in for a kiss.  
“Umm, Cas, you do realize that I have morning breath, right?” Dean asked, blushing like a schoolgirl.  
“Right, sorry,” Cas smiled quite unapologetically before stealing a kiss anyways.  
“I’ll get you for that!” Dean shout-whispered, throwing off the blankets and chasing Cas around the house, laughing like a toddler in a chocolate shop.  
Until he remembered that he only had boxers on.  
After borrowing some of Cas’ sweatpants and a pale blue tee shirt, Dean was finally awake and happily chatting with Amelia.  
He had to admit, for a forty-nine year old mom, she was pretty cool. She listened to all Dean’s favorite bands, and she love Impalas almost as much as he did! Cas sat and listened mostly; he seemed content enough with the situation.  
After breakfast, the three of them discussed what would happen in the weeks to come, and soon agreed that Dean could never, and would never, go back to John’s.   
As Dean and Cas stepped outside for some fresh air, Dean felt a weight lift from his shoulders as he wrapped his arms around the latter, burying his nose in Cas’ hair.  
“What’s this for?” Cas asked curiously.  
“Well, Prince Charming, you’ve managed to make me happy, which was something I never thought was possible. When I was at the store buying the bleach, I was sure nothing could ever…” he faltered under Cas’ stare.  
“Bleach? Were you...were you going to kill yourself, Dean?” Cas asked with round, glazed eyes and a quivering lip.  
“Well, I don’t really want to talk about it, but, uh...yeah,” Dean whispered. “I couldn’t deal with it anymore, it wasn’t like I could leave, exactly, and that seemed to be my only option. You know I’d never do anything like that now, though. I’m way past that,” he said, forcing a confident smile onto his face.  
“Dean, I want you to promise me, promise to never even think about anything like that ever again. I love you, my mom loves you, and you still have so much to live for. It’s summer, and in the fall I’m going to college. You can go late and say you took a gap year, or you can stay here and I can go to a community college, we can work this out. Just never make me lose you, Dean,” Cas murmured, still watching Dean with loving eyes.  
“I-I won’t, Cas,” Dean said. “I promise.”

***

Several days after the fateful promise was made, the unlikely couple was out shopping for more waffle mix at the local grocery store. Hand in hand, the two stepped into the market, only to be met with gasps and whispers from everyone in the store. All eyes were on them, but Cas gripped Dean’s hand tighter and didn’t seem to notice when someone loudly remarked, “Well, if it isn’t poor John’s abusive son,” in a snide voice.  
Ouch.  
Dean had almost forgotten what it felt like to be harassed. Almost. His eyes filled with tears as he remembered what his life had been like before Cas, his angel, had saved him--literally.  
Trying to stay strong, he sniffed and wiped his eyes with his free hand, while letting go of Cas’ hand and saying in a falsely cheerful voice, “Cas, I, uh, I have to go to the men’s room. I’ll be back in a jiffy,” before turning to leave. He didn’t get far before he felt a presence next to him.  
“I’m going too,” Cas said stubbornly.  
“Um, Cas, I hate to break it to you, but we’re not eighth-grade girls at the local diner. I can go alone like a big kid,” Dean forced himself to laugh. “I’ll be fine, honestly.”  
And he practically sprinted away as he felt tears return to his eyes.  
He’d almost finished his--business there, when the door opened, and a large-necked, unshaven man strolled in, barely fitting through the door. When he noticed Dean, a nasty grin grew on his face, and he started forward with amazing grace for someone who couldn’t have been less than three hundred-fifty pounds.  
“Well, well, if it ain’t the little faggot, all alone,” he said with a sneer. “Tell me, what did your dear old pop ever do to you to make you hurt him so bad? Did he call you a name? Did that scare you?” he asked patronizingly, as if addressing a three-year-old.  
Again came Dean’s vision of kicking his tormentor aside and being a hero to himself. That didn’t happen. Instead, the man raised a hand as if to strike him, and he gasped and flinched. The man roared with laughter.  
“What, is little baby scared? Maybe he shouldn’t have hit such a respectable man, then! Then you could mind your own business and kill yourself in peace.” he said, and shoved Dean towards the door. “Out, you fag, useless gays don’t belong in the men’s room,” he sneered again, coal-black eyes narrowing.  
Dean didn’t need to be asked twice, desperately trying to hold in the sob threatening to spill out at any moment.  
It shouldn’t matter, Dean, that was one person. No one else sees me like this, he thought, walking slowly towards the baking supplies aisle where he knew he’d find Cas. On his way he passed three women, two men, and one old lady, all of whom told him in various he was worthless, crazy, and a sinner that deserved to die.  
Each remark felt like a knife to the chest, and each one set him back weeks, emotionally. When he finally reached Cas, all he wanted was to leave. He couldn’t stand the pain and the stress and the idea that people didn’t know, hadn’t noticed that he’d been beaten all these years by a man they viewed as some kind of war hero. What he didn’t know was that the local paper was filled with news about it, saying that the “abuser was in a crazed state of mind, and should not be disturbed until handled by officials”.  
When he finally reached Cas, the tears came. And didn’t stop.  
Needless to say, they quickly bought their waffle mix and drove straight home, where they were greeted by a very distraught Amelia.  
“Castiel, honey, I just got the paper from the driveway and it said that Dean was accused of beating his father! How could they say such a thing?” she asked, sighing at the look on Dean’s face. “Oh, honey, come here, you seem to have had a very rough time at that God-forsaken store.” She pulled him into a hug and he sobbed into her shoulder.  
“I swear, I only hit him b-because he said I was a-a...a fag!” he burst out angrily, trying in vain to wipe his eyes.  
“Honey, there’s no such thing!” Amelia said, enraged. “There are simply people with traditional, asshole-ish beliefs, and then there are us.” she smiled and patted his back soothingly.

***

Over the next few weeks, the last weeks of summer, Dan received hundreds, if not thousands of snide remarks about how he was a ‘waste of space’, a ‘disgrace to our world’, and how he would ‘be better off in a coffin, anyways’.  
“You know,” Cas said one Wednesday afternoon, “All this dumbass talk really must make you want to punch everyone after a while. I mean, I’m just your boyfriend, and even I want to strangle every stranger we come across.”  
“Well, yeah, it’s...pretty bad,” Dean answered sadly.

He’d had a very hard time being as happy as he had been before with Cas. He kept having the urge to pull out a knife and go back to how he had been, but Cas and Amelia always made sure he didn’t.

The next day, Dean woke up to a pair or strong, lavender-smelling arms wrapped around his head.

“Hey, you,” Cas smiled down at him and ran his fingers through Dean’s hair.

“Good morning,” Dean murmured, barely awake. Usually they tried to keep their distance from each other when Amelia was in the room, only so she wouldn’t be blinded by their very ferocious kissing. (Not. It was more a courtesy thing.) The morning kiss had become a routine, though. They both pretended to forget about their ‘no kissing’ rule during this time.

Cas grinned at him and kissed his forehead. “I love you, Dean,” he said. Dean heard a small squeal coming from where Amelia was; he sat up a bit and noticed her tiptoeing out of the living room.

At that moment, Dean realized how blessed he’d been to find the two. He’d been on the verge of suicide, and they’d saved him. His eyes teared up for that reason, but he didn’t want Cas to worry so he shut them, not allowing any to spill.

He’d begun to have some doubts about his current situation, no matter how perfect it seemed.

Over his time at Cas’ house, he’d noticed that Amelia seemed to be having trouble keeping up with the bills, now that he was there. He’d heard her worried remarks to Cas when she thought he wasn’t listening, and he knew he couldn’t stay much longer. The thought of leaving made him incredibly sad; the little house felt like home.

His second trouble was that Cas refused to go anywhere outside of a twenty-mile radius without Dean. Whether he wanted Dean everywhere with him or he just didn’t want Dean to go back where he’d been, it was much appreciated. However, Dean knew it couldn’t last. He couldn’t make Cas stay here his whole life, just because of him.

His last problem was that the rude, and sometimes unbearable, comments hadn’t stopped. Every day Dean could feel himself slipping away from the happy life he’d grown accustomed to. When he woke up, he felt the familiar tug at his chest, and he couldn’t stand the fact that Cas could probably see it happening.  
He couldn’t be a burden anymore.

Dean knew Cas loved him, and that his plan was crazy, but it was the best one he could think of that would have the most benefits in the long run.

He didn’t love life. In fact, sometimes he felt like he was having an affair with death, what with all the thoughts he was having. He knew he shouldn’t do anything rash, because he’d regret it, which was why his plan was so perfect.

That day was Dean’s best, happiest day, because he could set away the stress for a while. He took Cas to the local zoo (he bought Cas a small stuffed bee), then they went to lunch and gazed into each others’ eyes, and, lastly, they had a picnic for dinner. Dean lost count of how many kisses they’d exchanged, how many ‘I love you’s had been said throughout the day, how many tears of laughter had rolled down his face. When they finally got home, he smiled to himself, knowing how happy the day had made Cas.

They both were exhausted after their day of fun and called an early night. Once he was sure both Cas and Amelia were sound asleep, he snuck off the couch, put a thick, folded note under Cas’ pillow (he almost woke up, which would have ruined Dean’s plan), and took one last look around the house, smiling, thinking of all the memories he’d made.

Then, he left the house, and casually walked to the bridge where the lovers had had their first meeting. He sat down on the cement wall, thinking that soon he’d be just another crazed person, to young to make good decisions. 

But he’d be happy that way. He wouldn’t be a burden.

“‘Beautiful view here, as always,’” Dean said to himself, quoting Cas.

And he jumped.

***

Dean blinked, looking around him. He was still sitting on the bridge, but...it didn’t look like the bridge he was used to. It was white. Everything was white, and everything was covered in light. He stood up, only to do a double-take when a woman just...appeared out of thin air in front of him. He jumped, narrowing his eyes and getting ready to defend himself.

“Who the hell are you?” He asked, taking in his surroundings. “And what the hell is this?”

The woman sighed and ran her hand through her bushy black hair. “Hi, I’m Billie, and I’ll be your Reaper for today,” she said, as if reading off a script. She took his hand, and when he tried to let go, Dean realized he couldn’t, and subjected himself to his fate, whatever it was.  
“So...you said you’re my reaper. What, is this heaven or something? He asked.

“Well, it’s certainly not hell!” Billie remarked. They walked for what seemed like hours, until finally they reached a white staircase. “Well isn’t this just the most cliche thing I’ve ever seen,” Dean commented. He noticed that the iron grip had finally detached itself, and he, like any person, started climbing. When he reached the top, he looked back. Billie was gone. He turned and looked at the scene in front of him: three doors, two of which were decorated as if a couple had been there. He saw a small painting with the words: CHARLIE X MARIA FOREVER and smiled. He turned and saw the other door had the same painting, but with the names reversed. He looked at the blank door and realized, it was his. He stared up at it, not sure if he really wanted to open it. He decided to; it wasn’t like there was anyone there to mess up his heaven. When he did, Dean’s senses were filled with the unmistakable smell of lavender and campfires as he stepped into the Novaks’ house once again.

***

Dearest Cas,

You must know how hard this was for me to write. You see, I love you more than I’ve loved anything--or anyone--else. Which is why I had to stop getting in your way. Cas, you have a whole life ahead of you! You can do whatever you want to, you could go to any school you wanted, and you shouldn’t have to stay by me your whole life. (Personally, I think you should major in art because you have some incredible skills.)  
Anyway, I hated being a burden to you. If I stayed, I’d affect your entire life. I felt as if I was ruining your independence. You wouldn’t get to travel, you wouldn’t get to live, you wouldn’t get to meet someone who could support you like you’ve supported me.  
I put all my earnings from my childhood in the other envelope (yes, a big envelope with two little ones in it was required). It should have about $15,000; I had a very rich aunt with a very messy house, what can I say?  
Use it however you want, I know it’ll do you more good that I could have.  
I love you, Cas. Always have and always will.

I’ll see you in seventy years or so, and I’ll be waiting for you, always.  
Yours always,  
Dean

(P.S. Please make sure John goes to jail.)  
(P.P.S. I’ll have you know that you’ll be my last thought, as you should be.)  
(P.P.P.S. Remember when we were walking to your house, and I said ‘no homo’? I lied.)

See you soon, my angel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah. That's what I have so far. I'm not sure when I'l get to update this, but I hope you like it anyway! :)


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